Good Things
by Girl Who Writes
Summary: Sawyer can’t remember for the life of him why he left her both of them at the airport. Claire and Sawyer.


**Title:** Good Things

**Author:** Girl Who Writes

**Pairing/Characters:** Claire/Sawyer

**Word Count:** 701

**Rating:** G

**Genre:** Romance

**Summary:** Sawyer can't remember for the life of him why he left her - both of them - at the airport.

**Disclaimer:** Property of J.J Abrams and ABC. I just mess around with the characters for my own sick amusement. Lyrical quotations from "It's Not Over" by Chris Daughtry.

**Spoilers:** Season 1

**Warnings:** Very fluffy

**Notes:** I have terrible trouble with time differences, so I apologize if this is late, and totally understand if it doesn't count. My muses recently packed up and left me completely blocked, so I hope this isn't too bad. Written for lj's cultships fic challenge.

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_I won't give up that easily_

It doesn't take long to find her. She's the only one of their little group who went back to live in Australia, and she was thrust into a media spotlight she didn't really want. He's in the city, and he sees a magazine with her face on it; her hair falling in her eyes, a nervous frown on her face. The neon letters splashed across the cover promise an exclusive interview. He buys a copy for no other reason than he likes to look at her picture.

He takes a bus to the suburbs; in the opposite direction of the beach. Personally, he's torn between not ever wanting to be somewhere you can't hear the waves crashing, and never wanting to see another god-damned grain of sand ever again, and he wonders if she's the same.

Jack recited the address over the phone – a bad payphone that crackled every other minute, and Sawyer squints at the bit of paper he wrote it on. He wonders if he should have brought something – wine, candy? A papaya? Aaron likes papaya. Do they even have damn papaya in Sydney?

_I'll try to do to it right this time around_

He walked away from her at the airport with a 'See ya, Blondie', and a ruffle of Aaron's hair, before wandering off. She had felt lost, alone and not just a little bit hurt. Late a night, when Aaron was asleep with his head in her lap, she could envisage a little beach house with lots of glass so they could see the ocean. Sawyer would surf and Aaron would run up and down the beach with a dog chasing after him.

The only thing waiting for her was her tiny bedroom in the house she grew up in, her judgmental mother criticizing everything she did, everything she wore, the way she was choosing to raise Aaron. She feels like she like nothing better that to just run away to a beach somewhere and spend the rest of her life pretending she's somewhere she's not, watching the water roll against the sand, and her son kicking up the sand with a grin on his face.

_I try to see the good in life._

She's up to her elbows in soap and water, hand washing some clothes. The house has no air conditioning, and her hair sticks to the back of her neck as she slops the clothes around the dish. Aaron's colouring in at the kitchen table, singing a song he heard on the television, a reassuring little sound that makes her smile even when she wonders how the hell she got back here, a place she thought she was free of the day she turned seventeen.

Claire doesn't know what she's going to do when Aaron starts school in the autumn. She thinks she'll go mad, stuck in this house, and waiting on her mother as some sort of penance.

She hears the back door swing open and bang, and sighs – Aaron will need his hat and some sunscreen, and she'll have to remind him that he can't leave the yard.

"Sawyer!"

The happy cry of her son made her pause.

"Hey, Roo."

The sound of Sawyer's southern drawl resulted in her spinning around to get the door of the laundry so fast, she pulled the plastic tub of water and soap onto herself.

"Mama, Sawyer's here," Aaron dragged Sawyer by the hand, into the little laundry, where Claire was on her knees, trying to mop up the spilt water; her skirt was wet, sticking to her legs as she stood up, looking embarrassed.

"Mamacita," he looked at the ground.

"Sawyer…" Claire shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "What…?"

He grins at her and presses a kiss to her cheek, like a southern gentleman. "How about you and me take Roo here to the beach?"

_The good things in life are hard to find._

Later on, when they're sitting in the sand, watching as the sun goes down, Aaron eating ice cream and building lopsided sandcastles, he takes her hand in his, and can't remember for the life of him why he left her - both of them - at the airport.

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End file.
